


Happy Halloween?

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: F/F, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:07:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23645899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: Mòrag and Brighid take the kids trick-or-treating.
Relationships: Brighid/Mòrag Ladair
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45





	Happy Halloween?

**Author's Note:**

> a halloween shitpost for easter
> 
> writing things in general has been pretty difficult for me lately, but i think current circumstances are plenty explanatory. this is a stupid shitpost i wrote just for the sake of writing something, u feel?

Addam is a good friend of her boss who happens to be the uncle of her girlfriend-fiancé-basically-her-wife-at-this-point.

Addam, who is a good friend of her boss, whose niece she happens to be dating and (not literally) married to, has two adopted children. A ten year old boy and a sixteen year old girl.

Addam, the friend of her girlfriend-wife’s uncle, didn’t ask _her_ to chaperone his adopted ten year old son this Friday evening, but because Brighid just so happens to be living with the person he did ask a favor from, she inevitably ends up being dragged into it anyway. Would Brighid say she dislikes children? Not really. She just prefers the company of adults. Mòrag, however, is far less judgmental and far more charitable, which is how they end up spending this Halloween night getting ready to go tromp around the neighborhood instead of spending a lovely evening watching bad horror movies in bed.

“That’s not a very good costume.” The other kid, the one who isn’t Milton but whose name also starts with the letter M, flatly says. Brighid doesn’t bother blinking.

“I’m not wearing a costume,” Brighid says.

“She doesn’t need to be wearing a costume, Mik.” The kid who definitely _is_ Milton chimes in. He’s wearing fake animal ears, and his nose is painted black, and he clutches his pillowcase in hands swallowed up by big furry gloves. “Neither of them have to, ‘cuz they’re _adults_. See? Miss Mòrag isn’t wearing one either.”

“But I am wearing a costume,” Mòrag says, appearing only slightly offended. Brighid resists the urge to rub her temples. Mòrag had insisted that her improvised “vampire” costume was a brilliant idea for a last minute decision made in that short period of time between Addam’s call and his arrival to drop off the boys on their doorstep, but all it amounts to is one of her nice dress shirts and an old cape that Zeke left in their living room and never bothered reclaiming.

Milton squints.

“… Oh. Yeah, I guess I can sorta see it?”

“Whatever,” Mikhail says, slinging his pillowcase over his back. “Let’s go.”

“Stay within eyesight,“ Mòrag calls after them as they trot down the sidewalk, weaving around other children. She turns to Brighid, fiddling with the cape. “Brighid. You can tell I’m wearing a costume, can you not?”

“Vampires generally have fangs, Mòrag,” Brighid gently says.

“Ah. You’re right.” Mòrag considers this for a moment as they follow Milton and Mikhail. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to watch over the boys alone while I seek out the closest costume store.”

“I’m afraid you’ll just have to deal with being a de-fanged vampire for tonight.”

* * *

It’s not so bad. Pretty boring, really, but the weather is nice and Mòrag seems to be having a good time in spite of it all. Neither Milton nor Mikhail seem particularly eager to engage in conversation with them, which suits Brighid perfectly fine, and they’re content with their chaperones keeping a distance along the sidewalks as they barge up to each house’s door.

She does remember meeting them both before, come to think of it. Yes— it was at a party Hugo had hosted for Christmas, and Brighid was there _not_ as one of his employees but as Mòrag’s date. Which could’ve been a whole lot more awkward if Hugo weren’t such a laidback person when it comes to interpersonal relationships. Hugo’s friend Addam was there as well, with his wife and two kids. Mythra gave everyone the stink-eye all evening and was texting on her phone for the most part, while Milton was… surprisingly quiet and well-behaved.

Brighid really didn’t pay him any mind, in the way one wouldn’t give much attention to someone’s pet dog.

Maybe she ought to feel a little more guilty about comparing Milton to a dog, though.

Then again, he is dressed like one tonight. Not a werewolf! He said. He’s a were _cat._ Brighid really couldn’t care less, though.

But, all in all, she’s not doing this out of obligation for the friend of her boss nor for the sake of a couple kids’ perfect Halloween. Mòrag had always been the more personable one, contrary to what others typically assume. She’s the helpful one who could never turn down a friend in need, chivalrous at heart and consciously good-natured. It would’ve been hard to sit this one out.

Brighid can only hope that Mòrag doesn’t bring up the discussion of having kids of their own anytime soon.

“It wouldn’t have hurt to wear a costume of your own,” Mòrag says. They watch Milton and Mikhail jog up the driveway of the next house, brushing past another group of children. “To get in the spirit of things, and such.”

“Hm. I’ll just say this is my costume.” Brighid gestures to her plainclothes. A blouse and jeans. Nothing out of the ordinary. “I’m the hapless victim of a _very_ hungry vampire. Is that enough to satisfy you?”

“… In what sense?” Mòrag cautiously asks, though her gaze notably sweeps up and down in one quick nod.

“Don’t worry about it,” Brighid says, and she leans in to give Mòrag a quick peck on the lips.

“Ew, gross! Don’t kiss in front of us!” Milton shouts out as he and Mikhail run past them, toward the next house. Mikhail sticks out his tongue. “Gross! Groooss!”

Brighid might have to reconsider her initially positive judgment of that kid.

“Ah, youth,” Mòrag sighs. “To be young and carefree again.”

“Ugh.”

* * *

On last year’s Halloween, Zeke wouldn’t stop bothering them until they agreed to attend his party. It wasn’t a party though, really, it was just a half dozen of them crammed into his tiny apartment trying to summon evil spirits with an old ouija board.

Things got a little out of hand when Pandoria pretended to be possessed by a vengeful ghost and became _too_ enthusiastic in her role, but Zeke insists it was a successful “rager of a party” and that he’d do the same thing in the following year. Except maybe next time, someone other than Pandoria would act as the spirits’ conduit. And pretend to become possessed and not throw silverware all over the room like Pandoria did.

And sure enough, Mòrag and Brighid had received an invitation only a few days prior.

Not that it particularly matters anymore.

“We’ll have to apologize to Zeke and Pandoria for rescinding our VIP,” Mòrag says, probably thinking out loud more than anything.

“I’m sure they don’t mind our absence.”

“Would you rather be at their party?” They stop walking and face each other. Milton and Mikhail are busy grabbing fistfuls of candy from a bowl left out by a front door with a sign that clearly says ‘TAKE ONE PLEASE’, but neither Mòrag nor Brighid feel compelled to scold them. “Be honest with me, Brighid.”

Would she rather be in a cluttered room that smells like stale marijuana watching Pandoria, or some other volunteer, overact trying to expel a demonic force while Zeke dramatically wails and shouts made-up chants? Or would she rather be enjoying a nice, though admittedly boring, stroll with Mòrag in chilly autumn weather while making sure two ten year old boys stay on the sidewalk? The audacity of even _asking_ a question like that.

She smiles and, after making sure Milton isn’t watching this time, kisses Mòrag on the forehead.

“Absolutely not.”

They continue walking.

* * *

It’s dark, and they’re engrossed in a conversation between themselves, and consequently distracted, when a man leaps out from the bushes right in the boys’ path up ahead. It isn’t as though either of them could have seen it coming. Who would, really? Grown men generally don’t hide in bushes, waiting to spook children.

“Trick or treat, you little shits!”

Milton shouts in surprise. He falls backwards. Mikhail is barely able to catch him.

They drop their pillowcases.

Which are promptly snatched up.

Mòrag is already running over, that ratty old cape billowing valiantly behind her. “ _What_ do you think you’re doing?!”

“You got a problem?” The man casually slings the stolen pillowcases over his shoulder. Brighid notices, upon catching up to them, that he’s carrying other bags and buckets too. Bags and buckets that presumably belonged to other trick-or-treaters. Candy spills on the ground with his violent gestures.

Though when she gets a closer look at his face, she realizes…

What the hell?

“Are you seriously stealing candy from _children?_ ” Brighid squints.

That’s… what’s-his-face. Malos. He was at Zeke’s weird séance from the previous year but stormed out halfway through, muttering something about it being a waste of time— only a minute before Pandoria had started her grand spectacle of shouting and throwing things everywhere under the guise of demonic possession.

If anything, she does have to admit Zeke has a knack for befriending the strangest variety of people.

Malos laughs, the sound undeniably cruel, tilting his head back. Other parents take notice of the unraveling scene, a few choosing to loiter from a distance while others quickly usher their children away from this weirdo. A weirdo in what appears to be a mocap suit, who had leapt out from some bushes to startle a couple of kids.

Mòrag seems more perplexed than angry now, gesturing for the boys to get behind her. “… May I ask why?”

“Because I can, that’s why.” Malos sneers, swinging the pillowcases back and forth. A taunt. A dramatically unnecessary taunt. “And no one can stop me. _That’s why._ This aching boredom can’t be satisfied so easily…” He curls one hand into a fist, bringing it up to his face. “So I thought I’d take matters into my own hands.”

Well, no wonder he’s apparently friends, or at the very least casual acquaintances, with Zeke.

Brighid inwardly questions if this is seriously happening right now.

“Give us back our candy, you big jerk!” Milton bravely calls out, though he’s still hiding behind Mòrag. Mikhail nods in agreement. At least they’re not… trying to actually take him head-on. This guy must be at least a head and a half taller than Mòrag, and his stature is broad and built like a truck. A muscular truck.

“Or else what? You gonna cry, brat? Go ahead!”

Mòrag makes a noise of disgust. “We don’t have time for this.”

And before Brighid can stop Mòrag, she strides forward and delivers a violent uppercut to his jaw.

* * *

No one called the cops, oddly enough.

Or maybe the rubberneckers assumed Mòrag had it all under control.

Brighid would argue she certainly did, at any rate. Malos may have been able to get one and a half (not two, just one and a half) punches back in retaliation, but Mòrag was swift and merciless and had the advantage of the first strike.

That, and Milton was brave enough to kick him in the shin, which gave Mòrag another window of opportunity to knock Malos down on his ass.

“Do you suppose we should go after him?” Mòrag frowns, holding an ice pack that a friendly neighbor was kind enough to provide after Malos ran away. He’s long gone by now; hopefully he’s given up on stealing candy from children. For tonight, at least.

“I think you’ve done plenty enough,” Brighid says, and she deliberately ignores the subtle puppy dog eyes Mòrag shoots her way.

“That. Was. _Awesome!_ ” Milton pumps his fists in the air, dancing in circles. “You were like— _pow pow!_ He never saw it coming!”

“It was pretty cool, I guess,” Mikhail nods.

Addam arrives soon enough, in good spirits despite the alarming news that someone had just tried to steal his son’s candy and that Hugo's niece decided to initiate a fistfight with the culprit. Brighid supposes someone like him has witnessed far stranger things, anyway. They exchange their farewells after enduring a long, sentimental _thank-you-for-everything-you’ve-done_ from Addam and an unnecessary promise to slide in a recommendation for a promotion to Hugo, and one more enthusiastic reenactment of the fight from Milton.

Other children scurry by to claim the stolen candy that Malos had left behind, and that’s that.

* * *

“I did cause quite the scene, didn’t I?” Mòrag muses out loud, once they’re finally back home and Brighid can rip that stupid cape off Mòrag’s shoulders. “… I’m sorry, Brighid, if I caused you any embarrassment.”

“While I normally would love to watch you beat up a man with your bare fists, I do have to remind you how _ridiculous_ the entire thing was.”

“Yes… I suppose.”

Oh, hell. Brighid can’t keep pretending to be upset. It _was_ stupid, but at least no one (besides Malos) was hurt, and Mòrag’s hot-headed valiance was…

Something. It was sure _something._

“Pepper spray would have been less dramatic. That’s all I’ll say.” It’s all she needs to say, anyway, when the kiss she uses to silence Mòrag’s reply speaks volumes more.


End file.
